And many a word, at random spoken,

May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!
Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified,
Close drew the page to Ronald's side;

A wild delirious thrill of joy

Was in that hour of agony,

As up the steepy pass he strove,

Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love!

XIX.

The barrier of that iron shore,

The rock's steep ledge, is now climb'd o'er;
And from the castle's distant wall,

From tower to tower the warders call:
The sound swings over land and sea,
And marks a watchful enemy.-

They gain'd the Chase, a wide domain
Left for the Castle's sylvan reign,

(Seek not the scene- the axe, the plough,
The boor's dull fence, have marr'd it now,)1

1 The Castle of Turnberry, on the coast of Ayrshire, was the property of Robert Bruce, in right of his mother. Lord Hailes mentions the following remarkable circumstance concerning the mode in which he became proprietor of it :-" Martha, Countess of Carrick in her own right, the wife of Robert Bruce, Lord of Annandale, bare him a son, afterwards Robert I. (11th July, 1274.) The circumstances of her marriage were singular: happening to meet Robert Bruce in her domains, she became enamoured of him, and with some violence led him to her castle of Turnberry. A few days after she married him, without the knowledge of the relations of either party, and without the requisite consent of the king. The king instantly seized her castle and whole estates. She afterwards atoned by a fine for her feudal delinquency. Little did Alexander foresee, that, from

But then, soft swept in velvet green
The plain with many a glade between,
Whose tangled alleys far invade

The depth of the brown forest shade.
Here the tall fern obscured the lawn,
Fair shelter for the sportive fawn;
There, tufted close with copsewood green,
Was many a swelling hillock seen;

this union, the restorer of the Scottisn monarcay was to arise."Annals of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 180. The same obliging correspondent, whom I have quoted in the preceding note, gives me the following account of the present state of the ruins of Turnberry :-"Turnberry Point is a rock projecting into the sea; the top of it is about eighteen feet above high-water mark. Upon this rock was built the castle. There is about twenty-five feet high of the wall next to the sea yet standing. Upon the landside the wall is only about four feet high; the length has been sixty feet, and the breadth forty-five. It was surrounded by a ditch, but that is now nearly filled up. The top of the ruin, rising between forty and fifty feet above the water, has a majestic appearance from the sea. There is not much local tradition in the vicinity connected with Bruce or his history. In front, however, of the rock, upon which stands Culzean Castle, is the mouth of a romantic cavern, called the Cove of Colean, in which it is said Bruce and his followers concealed themselves immediately after landing, till they arranged matters for their farther enterprises. Burns mentions it in the poem of Hallowe'en. The only place to the south of Turnberry worth mentioning, with reference to Bruce's history, is the Weary Nuik, a little romantic green hill, where he and his party are said to have rested, after assaulting the castle.”

Around the Castle of Turnberry was a level plain of about two miles in extent, forming the castle park. There could be nothing, I am informed, more beautiful than the copsewood and verdure of this extensive meadow, before it was invaded by the ploughshare.

And all around was verdure meet
For pressure of the fairies' feet.
The glossy holly loved the park,
The yew-tree lent its shadow dark,
And many an old oak, worn and bare,
With all its shiver'd boughs, was there.
Lovely between, the moonbeams fell
On lawn and hillock, glade and dell.
The gallant Monarch sigh'd to see
These glades so loved in childhood free,
Bethinking that, as outlaw now,

He ranged beneath the forest bough.

XX.

Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they sped.
Well knew the band that measured tread,
When, in retreat or in advance,

The serried warriors move at once;
And evil were the luck, if dawn
Descried them on the open lawn.
Copses they traverse, brooks they cross,
Strain up the bank and o'er the moss.
From the exhausted page's brow
Cold drops of toil are streaming now;
With effort faint and lengthen'd pause,
His weary step the stripling draws.
"Nay, droop not yet!" the warrior said;
"Come, let me give thee ease and aid!
Strong are mine arms, and little care
A weight so slight as thine to bear.-
What! wilt thou not?-capricious boy!-
Then thine own limbs and strength employ.
Pass but this night, and pass thy care,
I'll place thee with a lady fair,

Where thou shalt tune thy lute to tell
How Ronald loves fair Isabel!
Worn out, dishearten'd, and dismay'd,
Here Amadine let go the plaid;
His trembling limbs their aid refuse,
He sunk among the midnight dews!

XXI.

What may be done?—the night is gone-
The Bruce's band moves swiftly on
Eternal shame, if at the brunt

Lord Ronald grace not battle's front!
"See yonder oak, within whose trunk
Decay a darken'd cell hath sunk;
Enter, and rest thee there a space,
Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face.
I will not be, believe me, far;
But must not quit the ranks of war.
Well will I mark the bosky bourne,
And soon, to guard thee hence, return.-
Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy!
But sleep in peace, and wake in joy."
In sylvan lodging close bestow'd,

He placed the page, and onward strode

With strength put forth, o'er moss and brook, And soon the marching band o'ertook.

XXII.

Thus strangely left, long sobb'd and wept
The page, till, wearied out, he slept-
A rough voice waked his dream—"Nay, here,
Here by this thicket, pass'd the deer-

Beneath that oak old Ryno staid-
What have we here?-a Scottish plaid,
And in its folds a stripling laid?-
Come forth thy name and business tell!-
What, silent?-then I guess thee well,
The spy that sought old Cuthbert's cell,
Wafted from Arran yester morn
Come, comrades, we will straight return.
Our Lord may choose the rack should teach
To this young lurcher use of speech.

Thy bow-string, till I bind him fast."

66

Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast;
Unbound we'll lead him, fear it not;
'Tis a fair stripling, though a Scot.”
The hunters to the castle sped,
And there the hapless captive led.

XXIII.

Stout Clifford in the castle-court
Prepared him for the morning sport;
And now with Lorn held deep discourse,
Now gave command for hound and horse.
War-steeds and palfreys paw'd the ground,
And many a deer-dog howl'd around.
To Amadine, Lorn's well-known word
Replying to that Southern Lord,

Mix'd with this clanging din, might seem
The phantasm of a fever'd dream.
The tone upon his ringing ears

Came like the sounds which fancy hears,
When in rude waves or roaring winds
Some words of woe the muser finds,